


Din'an Hanin

by Balthuza



Series: spindleweed and elfroot smoke [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, there's only so much dead people he can see in one day before he snaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balthuza/pseuds/Balthuza
Summary: He reads the names in the veilfire runes and can tell that in another time, it was all of them





	Din'an Hanin

‘...thought it was something valuable and it’s all just old rubbish.’ It takes Var a moment to stop rereading the old writing, and another to fully understand what he’s hearing. It takes a lot of effort to stop his hands from crushing the priceless text and even more to bite his tongue. He really needs to smoke, sooner rather than later. This whole place is almost too much, with poor Taven and his friends ( _ so damn young _ , Var’s mind keeps reminding him,  _ so damn naive. You’d do the same, and killed yourself and Seph. Would it be worth it? Was their death worth it? _ ) and inquisition soldiers (he recognized one, who kept stealing fruits from the kitchen. He didn’t look at the rest.) all for this, a piece of history, something to remember those who fought back then. 

That hits him the hardest. He reads the names in the veilfire runes and can tell that in another time, it was all of them, it was Herbert and Dorian, and Cullen, and Leliana. That, once upon a time, it may be them still. There are bodies, ancient ones, strewn all around the place, the last defence that fought and died for what they believed was important, that gave up all they had for what they thought was right, and Var sees Heaven burning, sees the fort on the Dirthavaren and the broken slump in old general’s back, who knows the price he will pay for choosing a losing side. Unbidden, the images from his nightmares show up as well, his dead friends, the keeper, Seph, painted red with blood, all of them sacrificed to appease the mob, and while he knows they’re just a projection of his mind (at least Seph is alright, and he still can’t believe that sometimes) that does not help at all. 

They all put their lives at the line, they all make history like those elves made it once, and Var is just so tired, spending whole day on the edge, constantly on the lookout for another band of those red bastards, calculating how much rations they have left and how much to take for the return trip to Skyhold, and by now he has had enough. 

‘Give it to the dalish or something, they’ll pretend they care.’

His patience _snaps_. 

‘Could you just shut up about elves this elves that for once? It’s not about what their fucking ears were like.’ He can tell that everybody is surprised by his outburst. Later he may even be embarrassed about it himself, but right now he couldn’t care less. ‘They died because they gave a damn. Thought this might ring a bell, but apparently you’re way too far up your own ass to see that. Sure they were dalish elves. Have fun pissing at their graves. I need some air.’ He doesn’t wait for any answer, already regretting opening his mouth. He doesn’t go far, just outside of the chamber, finding a place to sit behind Mythal’s statue’s feet and finally manages to stay still long enough to smoke in peace.

He lets the elfroot fill his lungs and steady the way his hands shake, leans back on the wall, and falls into a shallow sleep, the whispers of a past long gone flowing easily through his head.

 


End file.
